Malchik Gay
by RoseofDestiny
Summary: Title taken from a TATU song, but not a songfic. Means Gay Boy. WinkFibb in high school. How they got to be together and how they came to be who they are now.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Do I have an obsession with slash? Maybe. So what? As a warning, I will admit that Timothy Fibb and John Wink are both out of character for this at first. Because I'm speculating on how they may have acted before they started acting kind of…well…distant. If it seems unrealistic, feel free to tell me. Set in high school. Also, I've forgotten if Lasso Lass was ever given a real name. If she was, please tell me, cuz for now I'm calling her Annie. And this chapter may be short, but this story won't be. You're warned.

**Dedication: **To Teh-Drabbler, as she is the only other person to have written a Wink/Fibb story.

"And here's your locker combination," The principal handed the teenage boy a slip of paper with random numbers on it. He awkwardly pocketed it, frowning as he felt her gaze go from his prematurely balding head to his oddly shaped hands.

"Thank you," He muttered, exiting before the principal could say anything else. It was so odd…he had left this city for five years, but his parents had recently decided to move back. Timothy Fibb was both excited at the prospect of seeing his friends again, and worried that they may have changed.

Physically, mentally, he was different. He knew that. The top of his head was almost completely bald. His hands were as oddly shaped as ever, though, and he had only grown a few inches since leaving. But what had changed the most was that he was no longer interested in fighting adult tyranny. _But I'm sure they've grown out of that, too_… He noted, making his way down the narrow hallway.

The whole hall smelled heavily of pine and cleaning solution. He took a deep breath, heading for his first class - Algebra 2 with Mr. Princely. The moment he entered the classroom, he saw her and recognized her immediately - Lasso Lass. Annie. Her outfit was the same as ever - the pink cowboy had, the spurs, the Western style clothing. She leaned over to talk to the person in the seat beside her - a boy whose eyes were hidden by shaggy brown hair, and appeared to have horns growing out of the side of his head.

Mr. Princely took the pink slip Timothy had received from the front office. "Class, this is Timothy Fibb," he said boredly, "Timothy, go take a seat."

He immediately grabbed the seat behind Annie. "Hello," He greeted her and John, giving a small smile. Both stared at him for a moment. Annie looked positively confused. It was John who caught on first.

"Timothy? When did you get back?"

"Just a few days ago, John," Timothy smirked. _Shouldn't that be obvious?_ He decided not to tease his friend, just glad that he was recognized. "You haven't changed much."

"Neither have you, Timothy," John noted.

But Timothy had lied. While John still had the untamed hair and horns, he had also grown much taller. Leaner. He was a lot more fit than he used to be. Annie had grown taller and filled out a bit, but there was no other real difference with her, aside from the little bit of acne.

John glanced back at Timothy, aware that he could not see him. It was why John preferred to keep his hair long. Nobody knew if he was sleeping during class or watching them. It helped him when he wanted to study someone closely. _You don't know what all has changed, Timothy…or how much.._. He watched as Timothy put his hand in his head, staring at Lasso Lass the exact way he used to. John shook his head. _Though I am glad to see that you haven't…_


	2. Secrets

-**Author's Note: **One point to whomever can figure out why I named Lasso Lass Annie. Minus twenty if you don't, because I should think it would be obvious. Also I'm listening to a lot of TATU lately (which inspired both this and She Loves Me Not) so don't be surprised if some lyrics rear their heads every once in a while. However none of these chapters will be written in songfic style.

"Would you like to come over for dinner tonight, John?" Timothy asked as they made their way down the hallway. "I asked Annie, too, but…well, I see she hasn't exactly grown up yet. She said something about having an important 'mission' " John gave a light laugh.

"Yeah, Annie's still convinced all adults are evil and must be stopped," He gave a shrug, "But there's not much we can do. I've tried. I thought about doing an intervention once, but it backfired. She tied me up and tried to convince _me_ that adults are evil."

"You didn't answer my question," Timothy pointed out. "You wanna come over or not?"

John turned to look around before answering. "I'd like to, Timothy, but that could be an…unwise decision. There's something you don't know. I'm afraid others have found out, though."

"These are the 70's, John….seriously, what's anybody going to consider a big deal? Unless you're a hippy. I'll admit mother's not too big on those," Timothy said thoughtfully. Even though he could not see John's eyes, Timothy could tell that his friend's gaze was concentrated on the floor.

"It's a long story, Timothy. Leave it alone."

"Can't you trust me?" John sighed, straining his ears when he heard whispering. He stood straight, closing his eyes as he tried to focus in on the voices. The whispers were starting already. The people were already grouping Timothy with him. _No…I'm already ignored here, or worse. I won't bring that down upon Timothy as well. Best not to accept his invitation. Don't want any rumors started_, John decided.

"Mother wishes me to be home early tonight," John lied. "Something about not cleaning my room well enough."

Timothy groaned. "What are you, seven?! Your mom always was kind of crazy…no offense."

"None taken," John said nonchalantly. Timothy waved as he took off, and John sighed. He walked outside and sat down on the cold cement steps.

He felt suddenly relieved that Timothy had not been there two years ago. Back when John first came out of the closet. When it became public knowledge that he was gay. True, it was the 70's, and there seemed to be a higher rate of acceptance and admittance, but this town had not taken up the movement.

John was resigned to Timothy eventually finding out. He wasn't sure what he'd tell him. _The truth_, he decided. _Maybe not the entire truth.._ he added. Was it really that wise to admit that his first boy crush had been on his best friend?

_No…I'll avoid that_, John decided finally, leaning his head against the building. The stone there was very cold, but also soothing. This was his Senior year. After this, he could get out of here. Go to some place that would accept him.

He was never beaten up, though. He was too tall….he exuded a sense of strength, and not even the most brutal of jocks was stupid enough to attempt to fight him. What they didn't know was that John saw no point in hand-to-hand combat, though admittedly firearms and mechanics had always intrigued him.

But he was still not safe from whispers. The couple of bricks that had been thrown through his window…or the knowledge that every male he talked to would come over scrutiny as well. They would start in on Timothy soon enough, and Timothy's frailness…John shuddered to think of what they could do to his friend.

"Perhaps I should warn him," He said aloud. He fiddled with the idea for a while, then decided against it. _He's the only one other than Annie who talks to me…I'd like to keep him as a friend as long as I can._


	3. Friends Tell Each Other Everything

**Author's Note:** I have heard a rumor about Operation: GIRLFRIEND that has me in a right fit. Oh, and congrats, Teh-Drabbler. For getting the reference correct, this story gets updated (I may end up using trivia to decide what to update from now on…very convenient)

_Can't erase what I feel, malchik gay_

Timothy grumbled, slinging the bag of garbage over his shoulder and lumbering under its weight. He glanced across the street and frowned. That was John Wink's house. So why, if John had said that he had to be home early, were no lights on? He pushed the black plastic bag down into the trash can, wondering.

After school today, a boy had come up to him today. Timothy wasn't sure what he'd meant, but the boy kept asking where his 'boyfriend' was. Timothy was very thrown off. The boy had looked so cruel, and if a teacher hadn't shown up a second later, Timothy was scared of what may have happened. He had no idea what it was, he just knew that it would be bad.

He sighed as he headed back into the house. He usually had to have someone to take care of him, due to his short stature and misshapen hands. His dexterity was highly limited. It hadn't been a problem when he was little. John Wink usually held everything for him, reached all the things that were up on the higher shelves…and Annie would usually make him laugh, even though it rarely seemed like it was her intention. Still, the group had had fun together.

He went inside and watched out the picture window, watching twilight slowly turn to pitch black darkness, watching as a dark shape suddenly darted by, ducking inside the house across the street. _Was that John_? He asked himself, already knowing the answer. The horns, the size…everything made it so obvious. "Mother, I'm gonna go see John!" There was no answer, and so he assumed there were no complaints from his mother.

He headed across the street, but did not bother to knock. Like with the old days, he let himself in. John was sitting in the living room, sitting almost fetal like on the couch, his chin resting on his knees.

"John? What's wrong?" Timothy sad down beside him and put one of his almost paddle-like hands on John's back. John shook his head. "C'mon…we're friends. You can tell me."

"There have never been that many before," It seemed to John that his voice came from somewhere else. It did not feel like his own. It was weak, kind of unsure of himself. He immediately snapped into himself. "My apologies, Timothy," It struck Timothy at that moment just how odd John's speech patterns had become. They were not a child's. Not even a teen's. Much too mature. It scared Timothy a little. "It doesn't matter.."

"Yes, it does!" Timothy cried, his voice the polar opposite of John's. While his friend had great composure, Timothy was still learning to restrain himself. "You don't look beat up…"

"I run fast," John said simply. "I shouldn't have stayed out so late."

"Why would they want to hurt you?" Timothy asked, unable to comprehend this. The only people who ever irritated Timothy were children, but that was because they were just annoying. He had never thought about hurting one before, and couldn't really understand anyone's wish to hurt John. He certainly hadn't hurt anybody else. "C'mon, John. You know me. You can tell me."

"Can I really?" John turned to face him so quickly that the hair was momentarily swept away from his eyes. There were tears in them. Timothy nodded.

"You can tell me anything."

"I'm gay," John waited for the reaction. The inevitable scooting away. Yelling, making fun of…anything. But what followed was silence. He found that somehow worse. "Well?"

"Are you joking?" Timothy put his hands together and studied them closely.

"No."

"Then why's it a big deal?" Timothy said, pushing his glasses up on his nose. "I'll still be your friend. But I do have to get home…it's way too dark out for me to be outside. Goodbye, John. I'll see you tomorrow. Thanks for trusting me."

As Timothy exited, John studied him closely, feeling something creep into his mind…it was a simple thought, but from his mind it moved to his heart and stayed locked there. That moment of acceptance not only brought his feelings for Timothy Fibb back…it amplified them a hundred times over.


	4. Just Friends

**Author's Note:** Have stolen extra energy from my evil twin…actually, she's the good twin. Either way, I stole her bubbly extra energy to bring you a new chapter of a fanfic. This just proves either 1. I'm a workaholic 2. I really am EVIL or 3. I love my stories. Self-absorbed as it may seem. And for Teh-Drabbler…you got a 1/362 fan into 1/Lizzie…as a result of GIRLFRIEND? Am I reading that right? ….Am I the only one confused by that? …TATU makes me want to write on this one or She Loves Me Not. The Di came up on an even number. So here we are.

Timothy found himself being very cautious the next few days. He wasn't sure why this instinct had kicked in, but whenever he was walking in the hall with John, he'd try to speed his friend along. In truth, it was kind of silly. John's long legs made his pace twice that of Timothy's fastest, but Timothy was not concerned about that. He wasn't thinking about what he was doing. He just sort of did it.

"Hey, Annie," He whispered to the teenage girl who was doodling a cowboy on the side of her paper. She glanced up. "Do you know anything about some guys trying to attack John?"

"Were they adults?" Timothy groaned. He found Annie to be very pretty, and he had to admit, he had a bit of a crush on her, but sometimes her obliviousness was just irritating.

"No…I don't think, anyways," he admitted. John was refusing to tell him details, saying it didn't really matter. "Have you heard anything about it? Or about anyone wanting to hurt him for uh…reasons?" he finished lamely.

"You mean cuz he's gay?" Timothy blinked, thrown off for a moment. Perhaps Annie was not as oblivious as he'd always assumed her to be….

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "What do you know about it?"

Annie glanced around, then leaned in. "A lot of people down like it," she whispered. "They don't think it's natural. I've heard rumors there are other people in town that are gay, but…nobody knows for sure. Most kept it quiet. John actually tried to lead them into one of those rallies..you know, like you see on the news sometimes? Well, they all deserted him," she growled, "Stupid yellow-bellied cowards…he was the only one who showed up, so he was the only one ousted. But he didn't give up who the other people were. Some people are kinda mad about that…they wanted to know who else was…_that way_."

Timothy closed his eyes, envisioning it all. He could clearly see John Wink standing in the middle of a stage, all alone. He was admitting what he did, the only one with the guts to stand up and say 'This isn't wrong. It's just who I am'. He thought carefully as he examined the scene in his mind's eye. It was so easy to see John standing there with his head held high.

For that moment, at least. Something must have happened, Timothy decided. John was still a strong person, but he was so much more stoic than he had once been. He was quiet, rarely saying anything. It gave his words much more weight, but it was not quite the John Timothy had been best friends with.

"So…when did they start in on him?"

"That same day," Annie answered, finally abandoning her drawing. "Darn varmints…tried to tear him to pieces. He was really loud about how some in the crowd were being hypocrites, and for a month after that he got really caught up in the whole gay movement thing…then…I guess he just sort of broke down. He stopped talking and he wouldn't eat for a while."

"Is he getting better?"

"Well, he only said about four words a day until you moved back," Annie said thoughtfully, rubbing her chin. "So I guess he's pretty happy about that."

Timothy nodded and went back to his work, but his mind remained on John. On that image of him standing alone. He wondered momentarily if John had cried that day, but he immediately realized the answer. No. No, John had been even stronger in those days. Timothy suddenly felt as though he'd become all the more frail…if people could break down someone as strong as John, force him to change…

What all could they do to him?

The whispers had started, and it was no secret that some of the jocks thought that he was 'with' John. He had tried to stand up for himself, but it had backfired. He still had the bruise to prove it. Once more, just like when they were little, John had come to his rescue. But Timothy didn't mind it.

Deep down he wondered about the possibility there was something to it, but he always dismissed it as his own imagination playing tricks on him.

They were just friends. That was all.


	5. For John

**Author's Note: **Wow…it's late. But Teh-Drabbler is bribing me with a sound clip, so I've GOT to write this tonight (You're a crafty one….but I will have the last laugh!…how the hell am I going to pull that off…?)

"John?" Timothy used one of his enormous hands to poke his friend in the back. John turned around, but said nothing. "Do you want to spend the night tonight?" He ignored the sound of two jocks suddenly whispering to one another. He knew what they were thinking. But he _had_ to do this where they could hear him. _I'm not gay…but at least if they think I am, they might not concentrate on John so much_.

"That would be…fun," John struggled, "But I do not think it would be smart, Timothy."

"Please? As a favor?," He smirked, falling back on childish tactics, "I'll be your beeeesst friiiiieeeeend!"

"You already are," John retorted, the same way he used to when they were so little. "But if it means that much to you, I'll come."

"Yes!" Timothy pumped a hand into the air, throwing a triumphant smirk at one of the nearby jocks, daring him to challenge him. Timothy was terrified of these people, yes, but not of what they _thought_. It was only a fear of what physical damage they could do. But after hearing what had happened to John when he came out….it was not much, but it was really all he could do.

The bell rang and they both gathered their things. Timothy waved in passing to Annie, who acknowledged him with a tip of her hat. "So…let's just go directly to my place.." Timothy said, fumbling to pick up the pencil he'd just dropped.

John smirked at him before picking the pencil up and placing it in Timothy's shirt pocket. "I believe that is what you wanted?"

"Err…yeah.." Timothy said awkwardly, feeling the color rise in his cheeks. _..What am I doing? Must be the air in here. I just really want to get out of school right now_. To him, the lame excuse somehow managed to make sense. That was on of the best things about being teenagers - logic was not always a necessity.

The two made their way home together, John casting glances at Timothy every few moments, well aware his friend was oblivious to it. He smiled in spite of himself, before mentally slapping himself back to reality. _No…Timothy has no idea what he's going to get himself into. And actually…carrying feelings for him could prove…most unhelpful._ "Timothy, I--"

"You need to drop your stuff off, I know..I'm coming with. You're not backing out now. I don't care what anybody says." He meant it to be big talk, but the way he said it, John couldn't help but be reminded of a four year old demanding that they be treated with respect. He held back a chuckle, instead leading the way into his home and into his bedroom.

"I just need a few articles of clothing," John said, about to close the door to bar Timothy access. To his surprise, his friend ducked in at the last second, and the door shut behind both of them. "Don't you wish to wait outside?"

"Nope. Fine right where I am," Timothy said firmly, perching himself on the bed. John decided to let it go, emptying his backpack of books and replacing it with fresh clothes, going into the bathroom for a moment to grab a toothbrush.

"All right, I'm ready.." John said, but he was suddenly caught off guard. Timothy was sprawled across the bed, somewhere between awake and asleep. Both eyes were cloes, but he kept moving. John chuckled. "You always did expend your energy to quickly, Timothy.." He leaned over to try to shake his friend awake. He paused, though.

Timothy smelled faintly of cheap cologne and polyester…It was an odd scent, but one John Wink found himself liking very much. _He **is**__asleep, right…? _Without giving it another thought, he pressed his lips to the other boy's. He pulled away immediately, waiting for Timothy to awaken with a roar.

But for a moment, absolutely nothing happened.

And then, Timothy just stretched, and got up. "Oops..sorry. Didn't get much sleep last night. Let's get to my house, okay?"

"Yes, Timothy," John agreed, letting out a long sigh of relief. "Let's."


	6. Pal

**Author's Note:** Yeah, you're right. I should definitely lengthen some of these chapters (working on it...still not doing a very good job of so). One thing, though - I have no idea if you're being sarcastic about the development of Annie. I will not defend the short chapters (Because that would be stupid and ignorant of me), but I will say that Annie doesn't..well..seem like the most in-touch with reality person. Thus why I have her still acting kind of weird.

John followed slowly after Timothy, much too deep in thought to truly be paying attention. _I should not have done that. If he finds out, he'll hate me_, John was brooding, he knew that, but he couldn't help it. _But then…I thought he'd hate me if he found out about my…preferences. But he seems okay with me_. His mind was a whirlwind of 'ifs', 'buts', and nearly impossible visualizations of situations that threw Timothy completely out of character, where he yelled and screamed and told John to go away, that he never wanted to see him again.

"John?" Timothy was on his front porch now, holding the door open and waiting for John to follow. John snapped himself out of it, lengthening his stride to get inside quickly. Who knew who could be watching? Or what they might be thinking? He ducked inside and moved so that Timothy could shut the door.

"Hey, you'll never guess what I found the other day," Timothy said mischievously, grabbing his friend's hand and leading him to his basement. John was only shocked by the movement for a moment. But then, Timothy had always been this way. Easily cheerful, and not really scared to touch someone. Unless it was Annie, of course. John caught himself thinking bitterly of his female friend, but immediately chastised himself for it. Annie was a good person….odd, but good.

The pair rushed down the stairs. The basement had boxes lining the sides, but in the middle was a large bulge that was covered by a gray tarp. John was bewildered. "I don't get it, Timothy. What is it?"

"This!" Timothy grabbed the edges of the tarp and whisked it off, revealing the skeleton of a go-cart. They had built it themselves for a soap box derby. Of course, they had immediately been kicked out.

"I remember this," John said slowly. "They said it was too 'high-tech' for the competition.."

"Probably didn't help that you insisted on putting that turret on the back. What did it shoot again?"

"Chewy pellets," John smiled, running a hand over the cold metal as he allowed himself to remember. That had been a time so long ago…back before the pair had met Annie, even. "But I still think it was your engine design that got us kicked out."

The pair were nerds even at that age, but the advantage to being such was they were the intelligent types. Both were fascinated and talented with mechanics, even since a young age. It was why they had made such a formidable members of the Cowboy Kids Club.

But this happy memory brought back sad ones as well, at least for John. It wasn't long after this that he had started holding on a little too long when Timothy hugged him. Timothy had never noticed, but John's mother had. They had had a long talk….luckily for him, his mother approved of his lifestyle. His father had not, but he had left a long time ago. John had been so relieved…he doubted he'd have the courage to come out if his father had been there.

"Speaking of mechanics," Timothy said, pulling a rolled-up sheet of paper from his pocket, "I've got a totally cool new design!"

He spread out the paper, revealing the blue prints. "…It's a chair," John stated.

Timothy picked up the blue prints and whacked John with them before putting them back down. John smirked, but leaned over Timothy to analyze the plans. "Hmm…so…super powered chair…turbo legs that are twenty feet tall? ..You have an obsession with height, Timothy."

Timothy frowned, but ignored his friend. He was very sensitive about his height, and so…well, most of his designs created ridiculously tall mechanical monstrosities. He poked John's hand, nodding in the direction of his favorite part of the machine. "And there would be the dome. We both just sit there, and it will act as a shield. We could even fit a lamp in there so you could read.."

"Timothy, this is…"

"Yes?" Timothy leaned in, a hopeful gleam in his eye.

"Kind of stupid. What would we use it on?"

Timothy looked thoughtful. "I always wanted to get rid of those stupid O'Brien kids from down the street…" He balled up his hand into the closest thing to a fist he could manage, smashing it into his other hand. "I've got it! We'll use it on those jerks who keep being mean to you. Then nobody will ever make fun of you again."

"That…that's very nice of you, Timothy," John said, again studying the plans, committing them to memory. "Thank you." He added. Timothy smirked, crossing his arms.

"No problem. Anything for you. You're my pal, after all, right?"

"Yeah…" John said softly. "…I'm your…your…pal."


	7. Prom Night

**Author's note:** Was unsure of what to do to get it to this point…then took a drink of orange juice and had an epiphany. Funny how these things work….

"Prom's next week," Timothy said, indicating the poster that proclaimed tickets were twenty bucks a couple, but did not elaborate on how much they were for those without dates. "You going?"

John gave his friend an odd look. Timothy immediately realized his mistake. "Oh…right. Well, you could still go by yourself, or something."

"Are you going with Annie?" John knew his best friend was planning to ask her. He felt guilty for hoping Annie would say no, but he couldn't help it. Timothy's hand went to his bald scalp, massaging it there.

"She's already got somebody to go with."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Timothy."

"Eh, don't worry about it," Timothy tried to look cheerful, but John saw right through the illusion. Still, he did not press things further. "I'd rather stay home and watch tv anyways." It was a blatant lie, but still, John did not call Timothy on it. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go out to the junkyard," Timothy smirked. If John was headed there, it meant he was going to salvage old car parts.

"What are you building this time?"

"That's a surprise, Timothy," John's smirk matched Timothy's for a moment, but it quickly faded when Timothy asked if he could come along. The junkyard was a particularly dangerous area of town. "No, Timothy…I'll go alone. Besides, it would ruin the surprise."

"So it's for me, then?"

"Perhaps." John gave a slight wave as he headed off on his own, feeling kind of dizzy. He spent most of his nights working on new blue prints, new inventions…anything that would keep his mind off the teenage boy across the street. It worked most of the time, but the moment his head hit the pillow, dreams of Timothy haunted him.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

A week passed smoothly, with nothing of particular interest happening. Saturday night found Timothy Fibb in front of the television set, laughing at a John Wayne movie. The phone rang, but he thought nothing of it, since he heard his mother pick it up.

A few minutes later, his mother walked into the room and sat down on the couch, her expression grave. Timothy bolted up.

"What's wrong?"

"Timmy," she used the nickname carefully, meaning it to soothe him. It only further alarmed him - the last time she'd called him "Timmy", his grandparents had passed away. "Something happened tonight."

"Is dad all right?" Timothy asked immediately. His mother nodded.

"It's not him. Sweetheart….do you know anything about your friend John being…gay?"

Timothy nodded. "So what? I'm not going to stop seeing him just because --"

"Shhhhh," His mother began stroking what little hair he had left, forcing his head down onto her shoulder. "Baby, tonight at the junk yard….there were some teenage boys. They were drunk. They'd all gone down there with their girlfriends, and they apparently all knew how John…is."

"What happened?" Timothy's voice was hoarse.

"John's in the hospital. They beat him up pretty badly, baby…"

"Can we go see him?" Timothy pleaded, wrapping his arms around his mother like he was a young child again.

She hesitated. "…He's not in the best of shape. Are you really sure you want to see him like this?" He nodded, and she looked like she was deliberating on it. "Well….all right. Go get your coat."

­­­

* * *

Timothy shifted about in his chair as he waited for his mother to finish talking to the receptionist. This place was so…horrible. He'd always hated hospitals, and the fact that he was now there to see his beaten friend only made it worse.

There was that awful chemical smell, and the complete lack of color. There were a few plants in the corner, in a vain attempt to give the feeling of life to the place. But it just drew more attention to the feel that the Grim Reaper himself was walking these halls, looking for the next one on his list.

"Timothy?" His mother's voice snapped him away from his thoughts, and she motioned for him to follow her. She, in turn, was following a rather large nurse. They made their way down several halls, Timothy trying to concentrate on the floor. Every time he looked up, he saw some person in a horrible state - there was a girl in a wheel chair, an extremely old man who looked like he was about a moment away from leaving this world, and a burn victim. Concentrating on the floor kept him from seeing any patients that may have been in a worse state.

"Here we are," the nurse said, flinging the door open. "you have visitors." she called to John. Timothy sighed and walked in, afraid of what he was about to see. His mother stayed behind in the hallway, deciding to give her son some alone time with his best friend. The door shut, blocking out all the world except John and Timothy.

"John?" The light in this room was blinding. John was propped up in the bed. One of his legs was in a cast, one of his arms in a splint. His head was bandaged so that his hair was actually pulled away from his eyes. There were bandages around his ribcage as well. "Damn…" Timothy said softly.

"I know, Timothy," John agreed, "But I managed to get the pieces I need."

"I doubt it was worth all of that, though…"

"It was, Timothy," John gave a weak smile.

"What all's broken?"

"Rib--" John stopped, taking a deep breath. He leaned forward, wincing in pain. Then continued as though nothing had happened. "Ribcage, arm, leg…and I've a few gashes on my stomach."

"Oh."

"Timothy," There was a tear in his eye, but he did not allow it to fall. "Timothy, I want to get out of this place."

"What?" Timothy was not surprised by this, but he still spoke with alarm. He did not want to be here if John wasn't as well. "You just mean the hospital, right?"

"No!" There was more emotion in that one word than in all the words John had said to Timothy previously combined. "No, I want to get out of this town. I have to. ..They'll kill me."

Timothy thought for a moment. _I…I want him to stay here. But…he's right. If they keep attacking him, he'll…he'll die. _"All right, John. I'll find some way to help you."

"That's not what I want," John said firmly, grabbing onto Timothy's hand. "I want you to come with me."

**Author's Note:** By the end of this fanfic, you better all love John Wink as much as I do.


	8. For Timothy

**Author's Note: **I love John Wink and Timothy Fibb. They are my favorite villains of all time. I mainly started this as a project to try to win more to not only avidly shipping them together, but liking them.

John let out a small whimper as his side screamed in pain, protesting his movements. He ignored the pain. He had such limited mobility, but it was important he finish this immediately. He double checked the blue prints, making sure he was doing everything in accordance to it.

Everything was in place, save the engine. He frowned. Engines were not his specialty. That's why Timothy had always made them for him. But this was a surprise _for_ Timothy. He couldn't exactly ask his friend for help. He groaned, slamming his uninjured hand down on the table into the center of the blue prints. His hand stung for a moment, but he felt better.

He'd been home from the hospital for two weeks now. He still wasn't going back to school, though. He couldn't. He'd have to face all those kids who had done this to him, and the stares of pity from those who felt bad for him, who'd actually have the nerve to pretend to understand they knew exactly what he was going through. His mother wasn't pushing him, but she didn't seem happy about it.

At least Timothy swung by to see him every day. John checked his watch, smiling when he saw it was three already. Timothy would be over here any moment to check up on him. Lately, it was the only thing John really had to look forward to.

On cue, he heard the doorbell ring. He got up from the chair and hobbled his way back into his wheel chair.

"John!" Timothy had come inside without permission and was now standing at the entrance of John Wink's basement, glaring at his friend. "You're not supposed to get out of your wheel chair! You know that!"

John nodded. "Yes, I do know that, Timothy. But I had to work on something…" he wheeled himself over to the stairs and pressed a button on the railing. Something from the bottom step poked out and latched onto John's chair, propelling him up to where Timothy was.

"It couldn't be that important…" Timothy said, pulling off his glasses and polishing them. John smirked.

"Yes, it is," He changed gears quickly. "Have you given any thought to it, though?"

"Leaving?"

John nodded. "Yes…Timothy, please come with me. I don't want to do it without you."

"I don't know, John," Timothy looked down at the floor, feeling kind of ashamed. He knew if the situation were reversed, John would have readily agreed to do as Timothy asked, without a second thought.

"You need to make up your mind soon, Timothy."

"Why? When are you leaving?"

John sighed. "Tonight." _There's no way I'd finish the engine properly anyways. He can make it himself. _"I have something for you."

"But --" Timothy tried to bring the topic back around to John's departure, but his friend wasn't listening. He motioned for him to follow him back into the basement. Timothy's jaw dropped. "You…you finished the super chair!"

John chuckled. "Not exactly. There's no engine in it."

"B-but…still…how did you finish this?"

"Stole your blue prints, Timothy," John smiled, wheeling himself over to the table and picking them up. He held the blue prints back to the rightful owner. Timothy unfurled it, glancing back and forth between the plans and the actual super chair.

"It's…it's exactly right," Timothy said in wonder. "But…but how? When?"

"I've had a lot of spare time these past two weeks. And I got the materials…" There was silence. _He got them prom night…how did he manage to keep them with him?_ "Well, I…they beat me with the pieces…after they ran away, it was that British kid that found me…Mathew…Montague…whatever. Uno? You know him..he found me, and I convinced him to get all the supplies and take them home with him before calling the police."

"Oh…" Timothy said softly, sitting down on the edge of the table. "I…" He couldn't take it. He started sobbing. He hid his face behind his hands, unable to stop it.

"What's wrong, Timothy?"

"It wouldn't have happened if not for me…" He sniffed. "It's all my fault. You got beaten up so you could build this…it's my design. I should have been there…"

"It's all right, Timothy."

"No it's not! It's not…" He broke down into sobs. John shook his head, but smiled fondly at the boy. He wheeled himself over to him, cupping Timothy's head in his hand.

Timothy stopped crying, though there were still tears in his eye. "Oh..sorry..I…I'm so sorry, John."

"Don't be. I wanted to make this for you. I got to, so I'm happy," John's hand didn't move. His flesh was warm against Timothy's face, helping him to calm down. Still…he felt sort of awkward.

There was no warning. John didn't even hear his mind telling him to stop…he just moved forward, planting his hands on either side of his friend and pressing his lips to Timothy's. The other boy slightly whimpered, but did not fight him off.

Neither knew how long it lasted, but both knew something was going to change from that day on. "I'm sorry, Timothy," John said when he finally pulled away. "..but at least now you know. I hope you'll come with me…"

The only answer Timothy could manage was to kiss John back.

**Author's note: **…Why do I keep writing these sappy scenes?!


	9. 30 Minutes

**Author's Note: **Exciting news! This and "She Loves Me Not" are being made into fan comics! Not by myself (I can't draw…at all), but by two people who are apparently fans of the stories. Malchik Gay will be drawn by Teh-Drabbler, and from what I can tell, it will be in anime-esqe style. She Loves Me Not will be drawn by Mel, but in KND style. As these are the two stories that meant the most to me, I'm very happy about this. So check 'em out. Neither are up yet, but I'll be sure to post links in my profile when they are.

_Can we fly, do I stay? We could lose, we could fail. In the moment it takes to make plans or mistakes - 30 minutes a blink of an eye, 30 minutes to alter our lives. 30 minutes to make up my mind. 30 minutes to finally decide. 30 minutes to whisper your name. 30 minutes to shoulder the blame. 30 minutes of bliss, 30 lies. 30 minutes to finally decide. **30 Minutes by T.A.T.U.**_

Timothy looked at all his possessions. His bag was lying on his bed, empty, open…waiting for him to put something inside. It was not that he could not decide on what to bring, it was that he just…wasn't sure he wanted to leave.

_So…what's left for me here?_ He sat down on the bed beside his bag, contemplating. _Mom and dad…There's Annie, but she's got that Texas Tommy guy now…There's nothing left here. _He admitted it to himself, but it was just such a foreign idea to him. Leaving, not even telling his parents where he was going…just…running away.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

An hour later found John Wink and Timothy Fibb at the bus station, waiting. Rain had started an hour ago, and now it was coming down in torrents, streaking the window panes outside. It made Timothy feel a lot better about being there, though. The bleak outside made the decrepit bus station actually seem warm and inviting.

"When does the bus leave?" He asked, checking his watch.

"Thirty minutes…are you coming?"

Timothy attempted to answer, but suddenly…he no longer knew. There were two choices here: he could go with John, risk everything for the person who loved him the most, or…or he could stay where he was, with his family, with the people that couldn't accept _their_ kind.

He blinked. _Our…our kind. Not John's kind anymore_, He realized. It was a revelation for him. No longer was his friend completely alone in his struggle. Like it or not, for better or worse, Timothy Fibb had been pulled into this world as well. He snuck a glance at John, finally realizing something. _I love him._

He opened his mouth to tell John so, but again, the words refused to come. He would have to close one part of his life before he could. He would have to make a choice…he glanced down at his knapsack. "John?"

"Yes, Timothy?"

"I can't go."

John didn't say anything for a while. He didn't react. Then, finally. "I…sort of knew that. I'm sorry, Timothy, for expecting so much of you. I guess the timing was not right."

Timothy smiled at the other boy and gave him a quick kiss before straightening the blanket over John's lap. While he was by no means happy about John being hurt, he couldn't help but feeling kind of…happy that he finally could take care of John, instead of the other way around.

Timothy waved to John as he exited, knowing full well his friend did not understand.

He had not packed his backpack. All of his possessions were at home. Now that he realized the true depth of his feelings…he knew what he had to do. He had to go back there. He had to get his things and return to John.

The moonlight shone on the paved road, lighting Timothy's way. He heard, rather than saw, the group of kids. The teenagers all standing in front of his house, some with spray paint, others with toilet paper. The window was broken.

The word 'fag' was written in huge red letters on the side of the house, still wet. It dripped down, making Timothy's mind immediately jump to blood. He stared, unable to move for a moment. His things were inside.

To get them, he would have to move past this crowd, and some part of him knew that at least one of those present had also been one of the ones to beat John on prom night. More likely, all or most had been present.

Timothy sighed. _I was right to want to leave…_He could get his things. _Guess I'll just have to find a way to make it…some other way…_ He'd stolen about a hundred dollars from his mother's purse before leaving. It wasn't much, even as a teenager he knew he couldn't live off it, but he felt guilty for stealing from her. But at least it could buy him some new clothes in the meantime.

He turned, for once feeling that this time his running away was actually the brave choice.

**Author's note: **Nope, still not done. Still more coming. …and hopefully the next chapter won't be so short.


	10. Revenge

**Author's Note:** …I have heard a rumor. I will not tell you what this rumor is, but if true, it would completely alter my favorite coupling. Meaning - you have one even more temperamental author on your hands than you typically might. REVENGE!!!

Timothy ducked behind a tree, trying not to call attention to himself. The teenagers were across the street from him. He was in John's front yard. He took a deep breath, trying to ready himself. He crept slowly towards the front door, wringing his hands apprehensively as he went. He let out a sigh of relief when he reached the front door, but quickly reminded himself that this was no guarantee he might not soon be discovered.

But that would be all right, if he could work out his plan correctly.

He pulled the Welcome mat up, pulling the spare key from the clichéd hiding spot. He let out a groan - it was so hard for his large hands to handle such small tools. He missed the lock his first few tries, but on the third time it slid in easily, and he ran inside once the door unlocked, slamming the door behind him, hoping it would stop the sound of the teens - they had started in with a sledge hammer to his house.

He winced as he heard it swing through the air, connecting with the frail wood of his house, splintering. He silently muttered a thank you to the powers that be that his mother and father were out of the house.

But that called attention to another matter.

Where was Mrs. Wink? He thought for a moment, then remembered John mentioning that she wasn't around much anymore. She had to take care of the payments and John all by herself now. _Well, you get rid of one of your responsibilities_, Timothy noted, making his way to the basement.

The teens were growing barbaric, losing touch with humanity with each splintering of wood, each arch of the sledgehammer. They were one being…one cruel, sadistic devil who thought to torture that which was not holy, ignoring their own fall from God in the process. Each swing caused a cheer to go up from the crowd into the air, floating there…all of them so enraptured. So joyous in their hatred.

He would put a stop to that.

Fight fire with fire…The best way to fight hatred was said to be with love and peace, but to Timothy Fibb, these people would not be worth it. They would not learn their lesson from this. They would grow up to be the same people they always were, perpetuating it down their lineage so that all of John and Timothy's kind would be hated and persecuted.

Their children would be just like them.

Timothy smirked as he started the engine with his remote, the Super Chair creaking as it stretched out to its full height. He toggled a switch, and it came to life, jogging him across the street. He stared down at the other teenagers.

They stared up, unsure of what was going on.

They were ants. He was a kid with a magnifying glass.

And he was going to enjoy this one moment to punish them. _The same way you punished John, when he'd done nothing wrong at all…._

* * *

John's eyes slowly opened (not that anyone could see behind the shock of shaggy brown hair) when he felt the tremors through the bottom of the bus. He looked around, trying to find the source. The tremors continued for a while, and then became accompanied by a loud 'thud' noise every few moments. The tremors were constant, but the noise was intermittent.

John almost jumped when he heard the knock on the window. He opened it to see Timothy in the super chair. The chair was running along side the bus.

The other passengers were all gawking.

John, however, smiled. He grabbed his things and lifted himself out the window, much to the dismay of those seated around him. One tried to grab onto his leg, to force him to stay where he was, but John quickly moved out of reach. He jumped from the bus window onto a leg of the super chair. The chair stopped, allowing John to climb up to the top. "Hello, John."

"Hello, Timothy," John said slowly.

There was something different about Timothy. His speech pattern, John noticed, was actually quite similar to John's himself. Except that there seemed to be an edge to Timothy's voice. He still had some connection to his emotions. John sat down beside Timothy, staring down at the view.

"Where to now, Timothy?"

"Wherever you would like to go…John."

**Author's note: **I should be updating this again tonight, but I really need to go do something to cool down. Besides...I think I just turned little Timothy into a psycho.


	11. Plan

**Author's note: **Err...really short. My apologies. I will try to make up for it with the chapter after it.

"Where do we stay, Timothy?" John asked, wrapping his arms around the other boy. Timothy had just shivered, and John could not blame him. The night was cold, and the speed they were traveling caused the wind to rush at them, freezing them all the more. Timothy rested his head on John's shoulder.

"I don't know, John. Where could we?"

"Suppose, then, Timothy -"

"-We stay in the chair tonight, John," Timothy finished for him. He nodded. "It'll do for tonight, I suppose. Best to keep the money for as long as we can."

"Indeed, Timothy," John was almost always prepared, and this situation was no different. He pulled his suitcase out from the storage area under the chair, pulling a blanket out. He draped it around Timothy. "There…to protect you from the cold."

"And you, too," Timothy said, snuggling up to John and sharing as much of the blanket as he could.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to stop the chair, Timothy?"

"Indeed, John…" Timothy pressed the button on the arm of the chair closest to him. The chair slowed, then came to an immediate standstill. "Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Timothy," John said in response, allowing the other boy to burrow his face into his shirt, using him as a pillow. John sighed. There was an elation in holding the person he loved most, but there was also a deep fear.

What would they do? Where did they have to go?

They only had a little bit of money. John had three other outfits, and Timothy had none. They had no applicable job skills that could get them anything other than a local McDonald's or other fast food joint. John gave an involuntary shudder. He hated those kinds of places. He found the very idea of working there degrading.

He had to come up with a plan, and soon. He slid from underneath Timothy's grip, being careful not to wake the other boy. Timothy whimpered in his sleep, and John smirked a bit, before leaning over and giving him a quick kiss. "I'll be back, Timothy. I promise…"

* * *

The sun broke through the clouds, making the day unusually hot for mid October. Timothy groaned and stretched, kicking the blanket off of himself, reaching over to give John a good morning hug.

Except that John wasn't there.

He felt a panic start in his stomach and rise up to his chest, making it hard to breath. Frantically, he looked around. "John? This is not funny, John. Where are you?"

"Relax," John swung himself up onto the seat of the chair, almost beaming at Timothy. Timothy was thrown off a bit. Had he _ever _seen John smile like that? He thought back. _Not since he was ten…_ Timothy realized. "I've got a plan."

Timothy stifled a yawn. "For what?"

"How to make a living out here."

"And what might that plan involve, John?"

John pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. "Someone called. …'Father'."

"Father? As in …father of a son, John?"

"Yes, Timothy," John nodded, cupping his chin in his hand, thinking carefully. "Apparently he is paying good money for those willing to help him with his…conquest."

"And what would that be? Taking over the world?"

"Not exactly…" John said slowly.

"Then…?"

"He wishes," John said, looking away. "For children to be entirely suppressed. He's actually a few years younger than us, but well financed. He'll pay a lot of money for engineers at this point. What do you think, Timothy?"

"Sounds like a shot, John."


	12. Join the Club!

John helped Timothy down from their super chair, but did not release Timothy's hand when they made it to the bottom. Timothy did not pull away. "Wow…this place is quite large, John."

"Indeed, Timothy," John nodded, pulling him gently towards the door. What happened next, neither would be able to fathom for years to come. The ground shook, someone -it sounded like a little girl - shrieked, and a roar came. The front door flew open, a young boy clad in a yellow body suit with a toilet-paper shaped head and what looked like a potty training cushion on his neck came running out, a fireball fast behind him. It caught on the edge of one of the rolls of toilet paper he wore like bracelets on his wrists, setting them aflame.

"Youchh! Ouch!" the boy cried "You big meanie!" He rolled around on the ground until the fire went out. "I'll start my own villains gang! Yeah! And then you guys'll be all like 'Toilenator, we should have realized that even though you're a kid, you can still beat up kids'! …..and for your information, Toilet-based powers are NOT lame!"

The only answer was another fireball emerging from the house. The Toilenator shrieked and ran for it.

"A most odd scene, John,"

"Indeed, Timothy," John agreed, pulling Timothy with him to the door. He knocked lightly on the frame, then proceeded without being asked to come in. Timothy followed, still a little unnerved at the thought of fireballs being pelted at him.

"And _who_ exactly are you?" The voice came from a chair that was turned away from them. It was dark…mysterious. Foreboding.

"I am John Wink, and this is my….partner. Timothy Fibb."

"And why should I hii-" there was a cough, as Timothy stifled a laugh. Sure, the voice had started out sounding dangerous, but now…the voice had just cracked. They were dealing with someone who had just hit puberty. Sure enough, the owner of the voice got to his feet and came around the chair.

Timothy stared. "…Aren't you the other Una child?"

"Uno," The boy corrected, "And I don't go by that name anymore. I prefer to be called….Father."

John and Timothy both let out chuckles. The boy glared, adjusting his red framed glasses. He was a young thing, just barely thirteen. He still wore suspenders, and he had an odd habit of carrying a plastic pipe around in his mouth at all times. All the more humorous since it only blew bubbles. "Father? I think, John -"

"That this boy is far too young to know what he's talking about, Timothy," John finished for him.

The boy glared for a moment, before his hand began to glow. It started a faint shade of red, then flickered to orange as the fire enveloped it. He hurled it at Timothy with such speed that John had to pull his love out of the way, getting himself burned in the process.

"Perhaps," John said slowly, "Looks can be deceiving."

"Indeed, John," Timothy readily agreed, still trying to calm himself. "But what are you doing in this town…uh…Father?"

"When Monty overthrew Grandpappy and erased his memory, well…Monty didn't want the money Grandpappy had," His voice went high, somehow like a different person. "We were going to split the money evenly, but nooooooo, Mr. Let's be a Good Guy wanted to put part into funds for our future children, and give some to starving children over in Napal, or somewhere…so I took the money and left. Because all I want…is the total eradication of the Kids Next Door," His voice was back to dark and brooding. "So…Mr. Wink…Mr. Fibb…tell me. How do you feel about children?"

John sighed. He did not know Timothy's opinion on kids, but he'd found…he'd found that since his own thirteenth birthday, he'd grown to despise children. To hate them. To wish they would go away. He was about to voice his opinion, when Timothy spoke. "We want the exact same thing you want."

"Very good…" The boy snapped his fingers, and within a moment, the room filled with others. None were under thirteen, but the oldest - a young man who was starting to bald and had a cigar in his mouth - didn't appear to be older than twenty-five. "Gentlemen -"

"What about me..ow?" a rather homely young woman asked, her voice like that of a cat.

"Yes, yes…and you," Father nodded, "Crazy Cat Lady…Mr. Boss, Stickybeard, Iguana…Mr. NoGoodnik, can't forget you, can I? These are Mr. Wink and Mr. Fibb. Our newest villains."

The man with the cigar popped it out of his mouth, fiddling with it as he surveyed the two. "And what exactly do Walrus and Buffalo do?"

"This," John pulled a remote from his pocket, and pressed the top button. The others watched outside the window as the Super Chair sprung to life and walked over, crushing a car in the process.

The man - Mr. Boss - 's jaw dropped. "T-That…That's _my_ car!"

"Now it's your heap of junk," Timothy said with a smirk.

"A vast improvement, I'd say, Timothy."

Father was laughing. "Oh, let it go, Mr. Boss…these kids have something," John and Timothy were about to comment on the oddity of a thirteen year old calling a pair of seventeen year olds kids, but Father kept going. "We'll plan our new attack tomorrow. In the meantime…." his smile was all the more evil. "Who'd like some cake? I made it myself."

John and Timothy exchanged looks, both thinking the same thing. It was nice to be fitting in so well….but did they really want to fit in with these lunatics?

**Author's Note: **All right, I was going to put Knightbrace in there, but then I realized he didn't seem to come around until Operation: TEETH. Count Spankulot didn't go in because….I didn't want him to.


	13. A Mother's Love

-1**Author's Note: **To those of you who have no idea why I disappeared - I'm not going to bother to explain. So I just rendered this author's note utterly useless, but I don't give a damn.

_**At the home of Timothy Fibb**_

Mrs. Fibb's eyes fluttered open. The short woman quickly ran to her window when she heard the groans, the crying….the screaming. She was still groggy - her sleeping medication tended to do that, but this was loud enough to wake her from even the deepest of slumbers. Or perhaps it was more her motherly instinct? Perhaps that was why she had slept so soundly as her dearly loved son had come so close to committing murder.

She quickly grabbed her robe and wrapped it around herself before running outside, shuddering as the cold air breached her lungs, forcing her to clutch the robe all the tighter to her medium frame.

Outside in her yard was an awful site. Blood everywhere…at least ten teenagers crying, screaming, bloody. She walked out to the nearest boy, about to help him…when she caught something bright red on the side of her house out of the corner of her eye. Her first thought that it was blood, and she had to face it immediately to alleviate that fear. "Fag" stared down at her. A sudden comprehension dawned on her, and she faced the teenage boy once more.

"Did you write that?" Her voice was as cold as the night air, and just as stinging.

The boy paused. A tear fell down his cheek as he found his voice. "Y-y…yes. We all did."

"I thought so…" With that, Mrs. Fibb walked back into her house and slammed the door. Knowing what she would find, she went to her son's room. Empty. Just as she had expected. She sighed and sat down on the couch, resting her head in her hands. "Keep running, Timmy," she said softly, as though her son could hear her, "Don't come back to this place until you're able to handle it."

_**Father's Home, a few days later**_

"So…you just left after that?" Mr. Boss asked, suddenly giving the boys a sympathetic look. It looked odd on his face, but the boys decided not to comment.

"Well..yes," Timothy said, noticing that John had fallen asleep beside him. He had become very good at telling when John was using his long hair to cover up that he was asleep, or bored, or looking elsewhere while you talked to him.

"Can't say I blame you. I'm from the same home town, actually --"

"It would seem many people here are," Timothy noted. Mr. Boss nodded.

"That place doesn't understand people like us…-er..I mean in the sense that we're uh, 'villains'. I'm not like you guys."

"But you don't have a problem with us?"

"Do whatever you're going to do…at least your union will never get any kids. That's a plus right there."

Timothy nodded again, before staring out the window into the distance. He missed home already, and he wondered whether or not he should give his mother a call.

_No_, he decided. Calling her now would be giving into a weakness. If he heard her voice, if he heard her say she wanted him to come home, it would all be over. He would be there in an instant, for the only person other than John who supported him no matter what.

No. It was best to stay here.

**Author's Note: **It would be longer if writer's block didn't just suddenly show up.


	14. The Phone Call

**Author's Note: **I know, it's been a while. To my dear Drabbler and CindyNeutron, I'm sorry. Explanation will come later for the two of you, but for the rest of you…it is very personal. But this story demanded that I finish it. And so I return.

John listened carefully, listening to the sound of Timothy's light snoring. After waiting an extra moment to be sure that the snoring wasn't faked, John allowed his eyes to open. It was dark in the bedroom they shared, the only light came from a lava lamp Father had refused to let them remove or even turn off. John watched the shape for a moment, allowing himself to remember where he was, what his purpose for waking up so late at night was.

Carefully he removed the blanket from himself, trying hard not to disturb Timothy. But Timothy was a heavy sleeper at any rate, and so John gave up on being careful once he became entangled in the sheets. Holding back a grumble, he removed himself from the bed spread and carefully crawled over Timothy's sleeping form. He dressed quickly and quietly, then pressed his lips to Timothy's balding head. "I love you," He whispered as he pulled his jacked on. "I'll be right back. Before you wake up. There's just something I have to do."

Timothy grumbled in his sleep, clutching his pillow all the more tightly. John felt a pang go through his heart…he just didn't want to leave Timothy, not even for a moment. But he had to. He took a deep breath and headed out, trying not to wake any of the other villains in the house up. He made it outside without waking anyone, and felt relieved when the cool air hit him.

He shuddered a bit, hugging the jacket tightly to himself. The wind howled against the trees in a mad attempt to bowl them over. John struggled against the wind, feeling it seem to take the air from his lungs before he'd truly had a chance to breathe it.

After what felt like an eternity but what in reality was thirty minutes, John reached his destination. A lonely little phone booth on the corner of the street. He shut himself into the booth and made the call, cursing himself for not having change and having to dial collect.

But the charges were accepted. "Hello, John," The voice on the other end of the line sounded tired but not from lack of sleep. Tired of…of what exactly? John decided not to press matters.

"Sorry to wake you Mrs. Fibb."

"Not at all, John. You didn't bring Timothy with you, did you?" John started to speak, but Mrs. Fibb pressed on. "Good. I can't say I wouldn't have asked him to come home, and he's such a good boy…he would have listened. I can't have that. He can't be here, not with the kids here the way they are."

"I'm sorry I took him from you."

"Well that's a silly thing to be sorry about," Mrs. Fibb said and John could just picture her shaking her head, a smirk on her face. "After all, you'll take good care of my Timothy, right?"

"Of course."

"And you love him, right?"

"…I didn't…how did you----"

"Well, goodness, John, you think his own mother wouldn't know? After all, with what those neighborhood kids did, they made it pretty apparent why they hated my Timmy so much."

John felt his heart speed up. "They did something? Mrs. Fibb, what did they do? Are you all right?"

"I'm all right. And the house needed a new paint job anyways. Don't think on it. Just tell Timmy something for me, will you John?"

"Of course Mrs. Fibb."

"Tell him I love him very much…and that it's just kids. You know how kids are….kids don't know any better, so they're some of the cruelest people on this Earth."

"I'll tell him. I just had to call to let you know that he's all right. We found a place to stay and even a job…"

"That's wonderful, dear. But what I really care about is that you're with him at all times. Everyone needs constant reminders that someone loves them. And poor Timmy needs love all the time now with the state of the world being what it is."

"Yes ma'am."

"Goodbye, John."

"Goodbye Mrs. Fibb," John stayed with the ear to his phone a minute or so longer, until the dial tone seemed to grow so loud that he couldn't stand it anymore. He gently replaced it in the cradle and headed home.

"John?"

"Yes, Timothy?"

"Where did you go last night?"

Underneath his hair, John's eyebrows shot up. How did he know?

"It's just that I woke up really late," Timothy continued, "And you weren't there. I trust you, I just missed you while you were gone."

John smiled and gave Timothy a quick kiss. "I talked to your mother."

"Oh?" Timothy snuggled up to John, resting his head on John's chest. "What did she have to say?"

"You don't wonder why I called her without you?" John had trouble keeping the surprise out of his voice.

"You had your reasons. Now c'mon, tell me what she said."

"Well, she loves you…"

Timothy rolled his eyes. "I know that already," his expression softened, "But ….does she know about us? What we are?"

"Yes, she knows. And she's not bothered by it one bit. She knows there's _nothing_ wrong with it."

Timothy smiled. "All right, what else?"

"She said….that kids are cruel," John said softly, letting it remind him of all that had been done to him. Imagining what might have happened to Timothy if they hadn't left.

"John?"

"Yes, Timothy?"

"We must go back one day."

"If you would like, Timothy."

"You didn't ask me why, John."

"Why?"

"Because…..Mother was right. Kids are cruel, especially there. One day we'll return there. And we'll show them, John---"

"That later cruelty is dealt back, Timothy."

**The End**

**Secondary Author's Note: **For one, I will say there is a epilogue left. Secondly, some may think this is a harsh way to end things. I disagree. This was not only to show their love story, but to show how I personally believed that they slowly evolved into villains. Take it with a grain of salt and if you don't like it, you're always free to critique.


End file.
